Ice and Fire
by ruwai
Summary: Part III of 'The Wolf and the Dragon.'
1. Chapter 1: The Tumultuous Calm

"… _In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_a lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_as long and sharp as yours…"_

– 'The Rains of Castamere', G. R. R Martin

**Read the book and thought it would be enough desensitization … But man, I am still in pain. Ow… So while I try to repair my life after the trauma of last week's show… Here's a new chapter. Sorry about editing.**

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**Chapter One – The Tumultuous Calm**

"Abby no…" she heard Mal voice "Shh… you'll wake them…"

Myra smiled, her eyes still closed as she listened to the exchange from where she lying on the bed. She felt Silver soft form nestle against her the low sore spot at her back. Myra scoffed into her pillow as Mal tried to contain Abby, who had been climbing and speeding all over the fortress. Each time the little girl would fall Mal would seem to feel the pain, while Abby herself would simply stand up and keep waddling around, chasing her unnamed white pup and babbling as she did. Words such as 'there', 'mad', 'no', mimicking the simple melody of songs Myra hummed and tunes Sansa sang… the most wonderful moment had been one that Myra had gotten to witness. She had been playing with Abby just before bed time, Robb had been reading a message from Lord Umber with a grimace on his face. Myra watched her daughter as young girl had been staring at Robb for some time, determined and frowning her dark little brow furrowed with concentration "Pop-" she began to say, immediately drawing her father's surprised attention "-pa" Abby finished after a short struggle.

That moment had been one that Myra had clung to… that and moments like this, now, that would make her smile in the torment had framed the past year. That instant when Robb's grey eyes had filled with water at their daughter's call was remarkable not only because of the event itself but also because of when it had happened… on a break that Robb had gotten from traversing the North, as far as the Wall to track increasing enemy sightings. That letter he had been reading had warned of worsening conditions and had called Robb back up North earlier than had been planned.

These bright moments are what Myra needed to keep going as she attempted to calm the small folk who had chosen to draw nearer Winterfell if not further south. She had to portion out food, resolve disputes between families that believed they were cheated out of provisions. It was difficult, but it was a learning opportunity. The project for Lena, and in part for her own mother, was something that Myra had not forgotten about and required decisive skill for.

Robb was gone now. She had hoped that she would have gotten used to him leaving by now, but she had not. If anything with each trip he took Myra was torn more and more apart with worry. She could always feel his burning grey gaze follow her every move.

He won't die… he won't die… that was the chant Myra constantly had to play in the back of her mind in order to do anything around Winterfell or with the children.

"Abby!" she heard Mal's voice whisper harshly.

Chuckling and stretching out with a groan Myra sleepily asked "What is wrong my darling?"

She could hear the sound of Mal's feet moving to stand at attention, before he shifted to stand at the edge of the bed "Oh sorry Ma…"

Myra blinked the sleep from her nap out of her violet eyes, she stretched out her arms for the dark haired boy to come to her. "Come here..." she smiled, pulling him into her arms so his back pressed against her front "Mmmm…" she grinned hugging him tightly. "Forgiven…" Myra grinned tickling her son's sides. "Now what is wrong?"

"Abby" Mal stated after catching his breath from being tickled and sitting up as he spoke.

Myra sat up too, stretching her arms out behind her body and yawning. Her eyes shifted to her nearly two year old daughter. The girl was climb over the furniture in the corner of the room.

Rubbing her marginally swollen belly Myra shook her head. Climbing off of the mattress to get to her daughter.

Mal piqued up as he followed Myra's path. "She won't leave Bo alone…"

"Bo… Bo… Bo…" Abby repeated as she tried to catch a glimpse of her nine month old baby brother.

"Aw… it's all right Mal…" Myra grinned, gripping Abby around the middle "she just wants to see him…" carefully Myra lifted the little girl up past her own bloated stomach.

Smiling and sniffing her daughter's dark curls, Myra moved a little over so that Mal could peek over the edge of the crib as well. The babe was sound asleep unaware of all of the people around him, though by the ache in her breast Myra was sure that he would be restless and in need of a feeding fairly soon.

A happy change had occurred since his birth. For the first few months Myra had trouble interacting with him, having a much simpler time holding Moira, who was Lena's little baby girl, and other children who had arrived at Winterfell as well. She loved her son but the memory of Rian was ripped open with his birth and Myra could not ease into caring for Bohdan in the same way she had for Abby or even Mal. Bo, as he had become known after many failed attempts by Abby to pronounce his name, did not resemble Rian. Even so, with his brown hair that had become tinted with gold the more it grew and his hazel eyes that had recently started to fleck with grey, when she had held Bo the thoughts of her red haired boy filled her head.

She had been grateful that Robb had been there for the initial few months, Sansa and Rickon too had acted as Myra's safeguards. But eventually, with his time to go nearing Robb had to confront Myra and she… they dealt with her pain and fears together.

Then he left…

Myra shook her silver haired. Sitting Abby on the bed next to Silver and going back to pick up her baby boy as he started to squirm. "Oh, oh, oh…" she soothed, gathering him to her chest and making sure he had not wet himself.

Abby had begun climbing all over Silver, tugging at the sluggish wolf's ears a crawling on to her back. Mal, however, moved to sit next to Myra as she pulled at the laces of her dress and settled against the pillows behind her. Bo latched on to the breast she had exposed and Mal told her about his day watching Rickon get closer to shooting at the centre of the target that he had been practicing on with Myra. Finally, after skirting around the subject Mal asked about his father, his Uncle Jon and his Uncle Bran.

Partially for herself, Myra assured the young boy that Robb and also Jon were likely fine but bit her lip when she came to Bran. As she watched her baby eat, not wanting to lie to her son she opted for the truth "Bran, he… I have not heard from him since I sent him the general update of the Kingdom…" Myra said slowly. It was mostly true.

She had sent Robb word of their next child's conception, not ever wanting to keep such news from him again. He needed to know, no matter if he was not with her…. On that same day Myra had felt similarly about Bran. Robb had left it to her discretion to tell the boy at the Wall that Meera Reed had married Petar Dustin of Barrowton. A young man who had once been a Snow, who had been adopted as an heir by the widowed Lady Barbrey Dustin for showing his quality during the war. It had been fourteen moons before Myra had gotten up the nerve to send the raven to the Wall. Neither she nor Robb had felt it was right to deny a good match, only because Bran could eventually grow to be win Meera's heart. It was only after they had given their royal consent that Myra had received the delayed letter from Meera stating that she did not want get married… that perhaps she would never want to marry.

Myra did not know if her raven had even reached Bran, according to what little news there was, the Wall was in a state of flux especially as they tried to manage the few resources and time that they did have. Bo's little foot kicked into her slightly swollen belly happily drawing her violet attention downwards.

At first Beena had been relieved to see that Myra's body seemed to be changing after pregnancy. The older woman, who had once again been baffled by Myra's relatively simple birthing of Bo, had stated that it was natural for a woman's body to collapse into an unfamiliar shape after children. Though, if Myra was honest she had a feeling that Beena had been wrong. Some months after Bo's birth Myra had gone back to her normal state, aside from the renewed swell of milk in her breasts. With her running and disruptions around Winterfell Myra barely had time to eat and had hardly taken any notice of herself. But then, some months after Robb's final, loving night of farewell Myra body starting changing again… when Myra mentioned the change to Beena, had given the mid-wife a reason to be relieved. However, Beena would have to make do with the more typical births in Lena's House, where with a team of mid-wives she aided in the birthing of not only Lena's daughter, but those of the other women that showed up at the house in Winter Town.

Now, it had been six months since her last moon's blood and Myra had more reason to keep herself focused on the future. A part of Robb was inside of her, growing and they all needed her to be strong.

* * *

The dead crack of ice filled his ears. She… the pale, lifeless corpse fell. It was easy. Killing them was easy. What was not easy was realizing how many lives had been destroyed by the horror that had infected the North. The decay that filled the land beyond the Wall was spreading, touching his people… that was not easy.

The icy wind changed blistering his grey eyes, the snow caught in his beard and rushed up his nose.

"Your Grace!"

Robb squeezed his eyes closed, he needed to breath. Myra always said the fog of her breath made feel at calm and at home. Blinking he squinted watching the air before his mouth become cloudy.

"Your Grace!" the booming voice neared.

"I'm here…" he cleared his throat. "I'm here!" he called out more forcefully.

"Your Grace." Lord Umber came up closer, Robb could hear the crunch of snow beneath the feet of the giant man and his men as they approached. Wearing a heavy crown in this battlefield was senseless. No doubt they had recognized their King because of Grey Wind imposing shape nearby. Robb could now sense that the massive direwolf was moving away from the battle's end and further into the flurry of snow.

"How many?"

"Not too bad, Your Grace. We've gotten better…"

"Better at killing dead things." Robb shook the dark hair that had fallen out his hood away from his eyes, turning to face the boisterous Mors Umber, who held a lit torch in his massive grasp. Old Mors 'Crowsfood' was here in place of the Greatjon, who had returned to the Last Hearth for the birth of his child by his new wife.

Under the snow bear he wore as a cloak, Mors looked the part of a fierce foe. No one could suspect his love of drink, nor that his right eye had been plucked out by a crow and not lost in a battle. Nonetheless he was every bit the fighter that Greatjon was, and every bit as battle thirsty. Which was partially the reason Robb had held the grey-haired lord from going any further North.

The Wildlings that Jon had let through the Wall had remained closer to the Bay of Seals and the Wall. Mors Umber could not be trusted near a Wildling, not since his only daughter had been abducted by one many years ago.

"Aye. Good practice in the least." Mors grinned a burdening smile, his leathery face nodded at the sprawl of Wights in the otherwise unmarred field of snow laying slain and being set aflame all around them.

Practice… Robb dug the blunt shaft of his spear, tipped with delicate dragonglass, into the icy ground. The blue unmoving eyes of the girl he had just killed again staring blankly up at him. Soon she was would wake out of her paralysis and have to be butchered again. He wondered if her eyes had always been blue or changed after she had been turned. He wondered if his father could have prepared him for this hell. If his father had known of what had been lurking up here. In the same way that he must have known of Myra and her mother.

That leather bound diary struck Robb, the same as that man from the Night's Watch had… Bran's first execution, where his father had not even delved into what the man had said.

They could have known, could have readied themselves against what was coming. Though in fairness the mystery behind why his father had hidden a bastard child of the Mad King and the Mad King's half-sister was not really a mystery… that choice made all of the sense in the world to Robb.

The other though… Myra had been so certain that his Aunt Lyanna's journal was the key to Jon's true parentage. Which Robb could not abide. He did not want to believe what she was suggesting… for what would that mean for Jon? His brother? It was true that their father had never wanted to discuss who Jon had come from, but Robb did not want to open that door.

There was a reason why his father had closed it so firmly…

Perhaps he was more like Eddard Stark than he had thought.

"You must be going now, Your Grace." Lord Umber interrupted Robb's thoughts.

"Right. Though…"

"You have already pushed back your departure, Your Grace" Lord Glover, who was standing further behind Lord Umber entered to the conversation.

Robb had the same trouble in getting Greatjon to leave the fray, finally convincing the great Umber that they did not know what the outcome of this fight would be and he had to return to the Last Hearth to witness the rebirth of his family and legacy while he still could. Robb had told his mother to wait made her promises of reuniting her with the family. that he could not keep.

Robb had not allowed the same courtesy for himself. Myra had wrote of the birth of his son. From the time the message had reached the Last Hearth, then made its way to the tracking party it had been an entire month. It had hurt to miss the birth of his child, in fact a pain had struck his gut a month before the message had reached him, tempting him to go back to Winterfell... in the morning it was gone.

Myra said his eyes were grey. That she called him just that, 'Gray', though in truth she had named him Grayhm. Yet again taking inspiration from one of Bran's worn books. That night he had drunk and cheered with his men. Wishing to all of the Gods that he could be with his little wife, that he could see his sons and daughter.

As he guilty surveyed all of the work left to be done, Robb remembered his desire to see his loved ones again. Myra had learned to ration supplies and allocate responsibility, the tracking parties and the people who had stayed North had barely gone without. And he knew she must have hated it… dreaded ruling as much as he did…even so she was good at it. She was giving with her projects, but able to rule with her mind on the future. So it was under the guise of meeting with Sansa's husband when he arrived that Robb had arranged his trip back to Winterfell. Perhaps the last one he would ever have back, the state of the North was worsening and nothing would be getting better.

The frozen girl's fingers twitched, Robb took the torch from Lord Umber's hand… she crackled like a log in a hearth before Robb's grey eyes, clouded with the fog of his breath.

There was an odd sort of calm. And just as with any tempest no one could quite tell how long it would last, all they could be certain of was the coming storm.

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**Hope everyone is doing okay!**

**Finger's crossed – next week's episode will have some healing. I don't think I can handle any more torture. Would love to know your thoughts on the show, my story and anything else really :)**

**Side Note: Anyone else think Edmure was a bit of a tool?**


	2. Chapter 2: Keeps

**Hello! Yeah, I know babies… Mostly own story but basing Myra on my grandma in that way. Not gonna say how many kids she had (don't wanna spoil anything) but she's the tiniest person ever and sufficing to say there were quite a few Irish twins in our family (not meant to offend to anyone).**

"…**Savaged limbs clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. On a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf…" – A Clash of Kings, G. R. R Martin **

**Poor Robb/ Grey Wind… Hey look! A long chapter with awful editing…**

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**Chapter Two – Keeps**

Robb crushed himself against her back. She had been walking alone down an empty hall near their rooms. His teeth pushed into her warm skin, marking her neck, renewing his claim. Her scent had awoke a frenzy within him, his hands moving of their own accord, drawing her skirts up. Her arms wound back reaching to tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. He moaned into her skin, his tongue tasting her intoxicating flesh, his hips rocking forward against her softness one his hands moving to gently grip the round swell of her breast. Her head turned and his lips devoured hers. How he had missed her calming presence… craved her heat, missed his home within her.

She drew away, making him growl in disproval.

"Don't you dare…" he nipped her ear lobe as he hardened fingers spread across her smooth throat up to her chin pulling her soft mouth back to his.

"Not here" Myra panted "the children…" she explained her small hands not moving from his neck, her lips tugging at his mouth as she spoke.

"Fine" he bit out gruffly. Though his touches and tastes would not stop. Blindly he let Myra stumble forward, guiding them towards their chambers. Her mind undoubtedly scattered as he steadily and unapologetically worked on removing her clothes, by the time they were in their room her shift was already falling off of her shoulders. He could not rip the cloth away fast enough. He needed to touch her, have her against him. His fingers raked through her sweet silver hair. Fumbling and shaking as he tore off his layers of battle worn clothing, he was dirty but she made him feel clean again.

He moved quickly, swallowing any words she may have said with ravenous kisses. He had seen things that he could not make sense of. Now was not the time to talk, now was the time to feel whole and safe again. To devour his little dragon.

"Ser." He felt he smile against his heaving chest, where she had collapsed, her addictive silver hair brushing over his arms "You had better watch out my lover's a beast…"

Robb grinned, roguishly smacking her bottom "How terrible for him." His smile widening when she squeaked as he rolled her on to her back, so he could look down at her lovely face "Naturally he'll have to be put to the sword." She giggled her violet gaze skimming and checking over his teasing expression. Clearly she had missed this intimate playfulness too.

"I don't see how that is so natural…" her hands traced over the line of his brow, her honeyed legs lifted to wind around his hips, drawing him ever near. All the while wearing the perfect mask of innocent conduct.

Robb groaned, he felt his limbs turn to sponge and his eyes roll back. Without grace his tongue plunged into her mouth. Breathless as he pulled back, Robb asked in a low voice "Don't you?" rocking forward he felt sure she had no question as to his reasoning. She nodded, tipping her back, exposing her throat. She moaned when he sucked at the pulse at the nape of her neck. His tongue lapped her addictive taste.

"Mine…" his teeth scraped against her freshly marked skin. He lifted his head forcing her to look him in the eye "Only me." He stated barely able to keep his head together while pressed so close, but unable to thrust forward until she said it.

"I'm yours Robb Stark, and your mine" her fingers tangled into fists in his long hair "I love you."

"Again…" he breathed through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut to keep his composure.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." Her tone was soft, her gentle touches to his face eased away the strain she found there. Robb turned to kissed the palm cupping his cheek, his cool grey gaze meeting her burning violet one as he slowly and tenderly slipped into her again.

* * *

"I should help Poppa…" The dark haired boy stated as Myra began burping the infant in her arms. By the time Grayhm was born Mal had gotten through his sixth name-day and it seemed that with the arrival of more siblings, he had become more staunch about protecting the North.

He held Aldric in his hands as Rickon nodded in agreement with the sentiment of his nephew. Myra's violet gaze drifted down to the two boys sitting across from her, both with cause to be so protective and eager to defend their people.

A squealing noise from the furs set on the ground by the table took Myra focus. Bo was sitting up against Silver's protectively resting body, shaking Abby's much abused teething coral up at his family before going on to chew on the item.

"That's my clever boy" she beamed proudly at her son, at just over sixteen months old he was a handful. Especially with Grayhm, who had almost reached four moon's old. In truth the children did not alter her sleep very much, Myra tried very hard to drift off when she could. Yet the stress of the supplies and fears in the kingdom and the nightmares that came whenever Robb was away drove her mad. Gashes and flowing rivers of red, Robb's sweet grey eyes ripped out his head, his scent rotted or his flesh burned to a cold hard blue.

Myra would wake up in a sweat. Her chest heaving the need to check on all of the children in her, she only wished she could hear Bran's voice to ease her nerves as well. She worried for him deeply and found it impossible not think of him in some gruesome state as well… Robb did not have detailed news from of him from the Wall.

Some nights Abby was restless without Robb to put her to sleep, much like her mother was without him near… however, her children waking her was not something that she minded, they provided distractions through her restless nights. They made her feel more steady, they forced her to take care of them for Robb's sake… Mal too had started appearing outside her door in the night. Obviously disturbed by what he imagined could be happening and coming from further up North. Between them, he and Rickon had brewed up tales and ideas of what they 'should' be doing to support the battle efforts.

Robb had been loathed to speak of it, though the boys asked incessantly. Myra knew why, what little he could bring himself to say he had told her on the night he had returned. The next time Myra had woken up, she had been startled, panicking that he only been a dream then realizing it was Robb's own panic that had awoken her. While had she stroked his dark hair he told her of the horrors of the infected, the haunting eyes of the undead… he would have gone on, but the gurgle of Gray had distracted him.

He had looked at Myra with some astonishment before going to the cradle to pick up his youngest son, who's eyes had started out utterly grey and were now turning Tully blue. Robb had already met Bo, been there for his birth, he had no such initial meeting with little Gray. While he was still away, just weeks before Robb's twenty-first name-day, the pain of Grayhm's birthing struck. It had been worse than Abby and Bo's though, according to Beena, Myra still had an easier time than most.

In that torn page and that diary, which could only have belonged to Lady Lyanna Stark, a woman had been mentioned. She had been the Mad King's half-sister, who had been Prince Rhaegar's 'favourite' something-or-other. Myra was sure that she had been her true mother, and that her adopted mother had been the Northern servant girl. Now when Beena mentioned her pregnancies Myra thought of Lady Lyanna words saying how small the Myra's true mother had been and how the Prince had said that in truth the woman was likely having more than one child. Myra's thoughts would turn to those of the two direwolf pups that had died with Silver's mother in the snow and dangers of birthing… the pains.

Mal had stood and refused to move from Myra's side during the whole ordeal and while she had loved him for the gesture, he was not Robb. For the pain Mal did not take a liking to Gray in the same way he had for Abby and Bo. Rickon, however regarded his new nephew very fondly as did Sansa, though she could not seem to express exactly why. However, Myra learned the reason when Robb had held the babe for the first time. "He looks like my father" he had said as Gray made a face.

Though he had arrived in the evening, riding ahead of the party accompanying him as he always seemed to do, he had missed the children's waking hour and too late to accomplish any real work. There were the tasks and orders for the men and troops still stationed further South, who on top of watching the border were also dealing with a group called the Brotherhood Without Banners that had been moving steadily across the Riverlands and now seemed to be moving Northward. These matters had to be seen to before Robb could ask for reinforcements.

Still, he had made room in the rest of his visit. In the two weeks he had been back, there was also time for reunions and catching up. Myra had thrown herself around Grey Wind's gigantic neck when the direwolf had finally shown himself at Winterfell. And Robb, after checking her right hand as always, took to carrying and bringing Abby along with him everywhere he went. He took time for Bo and Mal too, but Abby seemed the easiest for him to care for as he was absolute clay in her hands.

While Myra had fed Gray on the night of his return, Robb had bashfully admitted to her that he had checked on a sleeping Abby first and had been on his way to the rest of the children's rooms when Myra had diverted him. When he had first heard Abby speak in full phrases he had been blown away and did whatever she asked, no matter if it was 'Go there' or 'Give me.' Most of the time though she seemed calm with her father, nestling restfully into his grasp or bobbing her head back and forth as watched her father talk with his men.

Rickon and Sansa had also had some time with him. The way Robb had tried to budget his visit with all of his family worried Myra… it was as though he was preparing…

Myra violet focus was drawn back as Rickon was explaining to Mal that he was too young to go North.

"You are both too young, Pup."

"I am not!" Rickon exclaimed over the sound of Bo making yet another self-amused squeal.

Myra tried to keep a level mind as the petulant brown eyes of the boy across the table stared at her. Now asleep Grey stretched in her arms, "You both need to stay here…" she made sure look at both of the boys "I need your help too. And you need to learn, one day you will have Keeps of your own." She stated thinking of the Dreadfort, which was all but emptied of Bolton artifacts.

"I want to help Poppa. I don't want a Keep." Mal's determined grey eyes stuck on Myra's violet ones.

"Neither do I." Rickon added.

Myra huffed out a breath "Boys, it's sweet that you want to fight. But there are other ways… staying here you could protect people. I wish you could have met your Grandmothers…" she said to Mal, before turning to Rickon, "Rickon's mother, Lady Catelyn, she had the scars of protecting her loved ones in this very fortress. She did not need a battle field to save people… by running a Keep and it's lands the responsibility of every person's life in that place and in that home is yours." Being met with two blank stares and the sound of Aldric's ribbet, Myra went on "You save people if you do you know how to run organize land well, if you…"

"Your Grace…" the Maester's voice broke into her explanation, causing Myra to startle slightly.

"Oh!…Maes…" she could see the trepidation in his countenance "is it a Raven?" Myra asked. She had been expecting news, if not from Bran then from the East. Had Robb returned when Lord Tyrion had been expected to arrive, he would have been restlessly waiting at Winterfell for very long time.

The last Raven she had gotten from Jim had said Lord Tyrion would be at Winterfell within one to two months… that had been six months ago. If she did not have worry enough, adding to her fears was the fact that neither Jaime nor Brienne had responded or contacted her since then. She held on to the hope that they were simply travelling and not in some kind of trouble or worse.

"No, Your Grace…" Maester Loel lowered his voice, dipping his short brown haired head to address her "It's…" he stopped yet again.

Myra looked at the boys, before standing up with Gray in her arms and stepping away a little from the table with Maester Loel "Yes?" she urged.

"Theon Greyjoy."

"Theon?" Myra frowned. It may have been horrible but she had almost forgotten that he was in Winterfell. "Why does he want to see me?"

"He did not say but suspect he thinks you will hear him."

"I…" Myra's refusal was interrupted as Grey yawned in her arms his tiny fists curling as he nestled into a new position in his blanket. Giving her a moment longer to think of Theon stuck in that small bed chamber all of this time "Could you watch the children please?"

The young Maester nodded, following Myra as she placed the sleeping babe in his basket. She looked to the boys who had been watching her intently "We'll talk about this again." She watched them nod, before Rickon went to pick up Bo as Silver stood up to follow Myra.

* * *

Myra's fingers brushed through her wolf's soft fur as they walked, she gave Silver's violet eyes a glance and sniffed at Robb's cloak around her shoulders for a moment before rounding the final corner to the chamber that Theon was being held in.

He must be eating. Myra thought to herself as she approached the open guarded door.

"May I pass?" Myra awkwardly asked the confused guard standing at the door. When it had become apparent Asha would not be planning any escapes for her brother, the guarding had only taken place at meal-times or for washing, or else the door and window were barred and locked by Maester Loel.

"Of course Your Grace." His brown eyes were fixed on the direwolf at Myra's side.

Myra tried as she did with every stranger, so that they knew they could chose "You may call me Myra if you prefer..."

"Of course Your Grace." He looked at Myra and bowed his head at the neck, as he moved out of the doorway. The night had been coming much earlier and barred window was open letting the moon's light bathe the room, otherwise the space was dimly lit by a single flickering candle close to the doorway. If it was not for Robb's cloak Myra was sure she would have frozen. Silver's warmth and pipes in walls helped too. It made sense, having fire near a prisoner, would not have been a wise idea. On the bed at the far side of the room by an empty fire pit, sat the outlined bundle of blankets and furs where what was left of Theon Greyjoy sat with a tray of soup on his lap. The closer Myra moved the more she could see him the moon light. He really looked to have healed well, he had gained some weight and in the right light she could hardly tell what had happened to him, until he spoke.

"Can I call you Myra too, Your Grace?" His snarking tongue came through the unnatural gaps between his teeth, the premature wrinkles on his face and the white of his hair became more pronounced as he moved. The claw he made to pick up his spoon and slurp his soup only made Myra think of the bones and skin that had been missing from his fingers and toes. Fingers and toes and other painful parts that were missing altogether.

"Yo…" her violet eyes skimmed over his wrecked state "… you can call me Myra. It is what you called me before."

"It is not all that I called you." Theon remarked, Myra wondered if he had been so broken, he now craved reprimanding. "Your Lion calls more I expect or…" his eyes inspected her figure, sticking for a moment on the wreath that Myra had forgotten Robb had given her that morning "perhaps less…"

Ignoring the jab, Myra crossed her arms over her chest, she felt Silver shift to stand at the ready by her side. "You asked me to come and here I am."

"I figured you'd speak to me, what with your fondness for prisoners…" Theon turned his blue gaze up to the window, while Myra irritably puffed out a breath "I heard he returned." He wearily nodded at the starry sky "I don't see much. But I hear…" Theon's lisping voice spoke slowly. "I hear that the dead are alive again, that my brother fights against them, that I may never see him again…"

"Your brother? You cannot mean…"

Theon's eyes snapped up to hers again, they were glossy filled with sincerity "Can't I?"

She could see Theon's jaw clentch "You forgave the Kingslayer for throwing Bran out of window. A boy I saved…"

"You didn't seem to care about that point when I brought up during your siege. As for Ser Jaime…" Myra made sure to use his proper title "in the time that I have known him myself, he has done no true wrong to me or my family. You may not have deserved what you suffered but as I have known you, Theon Greyjoy, you have been a coward, a turncoat…"

"Robb was a brother to me!" Theon cut in and strongly asserted again, "He was the closest thing I had to family. I just did not realize until it was too late," he sniffed now, hiding his face as Rickon often tried to do when he cried "I was never meant to be Iron Born… not after my father gave me up…"

Myra thoughts raced to the children that had been spread out over the North.

"My brother… by bond not blood" The bedridden Lord Greyjoy went on "And I have not seen him since he sent me off to the Iron Islands. If he dies in this fight then I will never speak to him again. And I have to tell him…" Theon's voice trailed off weakly.

Myra looked down at him, in the dark, cold room unsure of what to say to this young man who had aged some forty years in the three years she had known him.

As she took him in she could not see how she could deny him such a simple request "I will try…" she saw him nod and turned to leave, stopping at the door to offer "…And maybe I can get you some more light in here…" though never unattended or within his reach she thought to herself, before adding "… if you can swear…"

He lifted his eyes to at her nod this time "I have grown accustomed to the dark. But have no fear, I have no desire to die by fire." Theon assured Myra, quelling her worry that he may put the place to flame if given more light. "Nor to take all of Winterfell with me…"

* * *

**Sad we gotta wait another whole year : (**

**Hope everyone's doing all right. Next chapter really, really soon! Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3: Second Sons

**Hope everyone's coping alright Time for the next obsession of the summer tv season… Sorry about the editing (was meant to be part of the last chapter but got waayyyyy to long). Let me know if you like it! Editing = issues.**

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**Chapter Three – Second Sons**

Myra was humming her feet moving lightly as she danced and leaped adding some fun as she burned more herbs. After speaking with Theon, Myra did not know what to do. Robb was still talking with Ser Markem and Ser Wylis when she had left Theon. Myra had visited Sansa, Myrcella and Lady Jeyne practicing their needlepoint.

Poor charming Sansa who, after working for some time with the women at Lena's House, had timidly brought forward and enveloped herself in the project to enlarge and create more produce for the winter in the glass garden… Something to distract herself with as she, like Myra, waited on edge for her own husband clearly worried at the long delay of his arrival.

Once Myra had sent the boys to bed she had wandered restlessly around the fortress. Groaning a little as she picked up the wooden toys Mal had been playing with… she would have to have another talk with him.

Silver rested on the stone ground under one of the tables of the torch lit hall. Her violet eyes followed her silver haired girl as she twirled and softly sang while the rest of castle went to sleep.

A calloused grip closed around the wrist of the hand she was using to spread the smoke. She curled into the Wintery embrace behind her. As he swayed her, she felt Robb bury his nose in her hair. Relishing the relieved sound of his sigh.

"Are you trying to driving someone away my little dragon?"

Myra smiled well aware of how terrible her singing voice was. "Well I do only want you near," she smiled raising her free hand to tug on the fierce bread that had grown over his cheeks.

He spun her out of his arms, drawing her back, taking the herbs out of her hands and putting them on a close by table.

Lifting her hands in his again Robb directed her "Left then right, my little dragon…"his grey eyes were light with fun. She giggled as she stared at her feet trying not to step on his toes. "…though you already move better than I ever did with all of my learning…" He chuckled along as well grasping her around her waist and lifting her to stand on his feet. Pressing her close, lowering his head to mumble into her ear "… I prefer dancing our way."

She could feel the ice of his breath as he whispered against her ear "…I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair…"Myra nuzzled into his soothing scent and the rumble of his chest as he sang a line from 'Seasons of Love'.

"And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolf, and the wind itself was their song..." she responded quietly with the song written about Robb and his victory at Oxcross. They held each other, swaying to the music in their heads.

"I saw..." she cleared her throat as he pulled away to see her properly. Myra looked up at her bearded husband. "I saw Theon today."

Myra could detect the flinch in Robb's expression. Grey Wind too had come to lie over Silver's form and Myra could see his large head bob out of the corner of her eye as well.

"Oh?" Robb said curtly, his eyes grey steel and his mouth tight as he spoke. "Had he done something?"

"No... He simply wanted to speak with me."

She felt Robb's big arms tighten around her slender waist. "About what?"

"You." she let Robb place her back on the ground... his face was filled anger.

"Me?"

"He said that you were his only family…" Robb's face pinched as she went on "and he wants to see you before you go off to…" Myra had been fine at first, but now her voice cracked. An overwhelming feeling similar to Theon's about Robb had been building in her and suddenly she could not bear to look at her husband anymore. Her eyes fell to the floor and her head hung low, causing her silver hair to fall as a curtain between them.

She felt his war roughened finger hook under her chin, pulling her face up to look at him. His grey gaze now soft and warm. Myra gasped out the breath that she had been holding.

Leaping up she wrapped her arms as tight as she could around her wolf's neck. "Gods Robb, I can't breathe without you. I just can't…" her heart was racing, her lungs were tight, she all of the horrors she had been trying to block out of her head hit her. His limp form at the Twins, the dreams, the fears… "Stay here. Don't leave me again."

"Shhh…" Robb shushed her, stroking her silver hair as she softly wept into his shoulder. She hated being this weak, but she could help it. She needed him. Always.

She was vaguely aware of him moving, sitting down on one the long benches and cradling her on his lap against his chest.

Myra tried to calm her breathing, but everything about Robb that brought so much peace only reminded her of his having to leave soon and made her weep more. "Stay…" brokenly she pleaded.

"You have no idea how badly I want to…" he began to offer with some reluctance "…but… I have to…"

Myra throat loosened slightly as she interrupted "The threat has not passed the Gift for months now. Why do you have go when you have already been?"

She could feel Robb's nearly silent chuckle, she did not have to ask for him to address her confusion "Mal and Rickon asked something similar today."

"They did?" Myra snuggled closer into Robb's embrace as her breathing slowed. She wondered when the boys had gotten a chance to speak to him.

"Tracked me down with my council." She heard the amused smile in his tone "They said you wouldn't let them go to fight and they asked why I could and why I did so often… would you like to hear what I told them?"

Her purple eyes closed Myra burrowed against the scent she craved so much "No." she grumbled in a sour mood.

"So spiteful, my little dragon" Robb scoffed and went on "I told them that it was wise for a ruler to stay behind to command and manage their forces, but I also told them the words of my father, that 'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword'. I cannot send my men where I would not go…"

"And it is just that, Robb… a sentence." Myra bit out, curling her fingers into fists, gripping him closer. "And I think it is bullshit." She used more colourful language that was frequently heard at Lena's House.

Robb sucked in a breath at her cursing, his sound was gentle and his clutch on her tightened when he spoke again "Please don't be mad at me, little dragon…"

Without thinking, with her eyes closed, she pulled herself up to mournfully kiss his lips, "I am very mad" she tasted salt, tears still soaked her face as she spoke against his mouth "very mad…"

* * *

"The Imp comes with a horde."

"A horde?"

"I told you not to call him Imp." Sansa scolded Rickon as he explained what a 'horde' was to Mal.

With the red-haired Lady's voice travelling out into the hall, Myra grinned as she passed by the room in which Sansa was meant to be teaching the boys courtly manners. Sansa had been in a state since word had reached Winterfell some half hour ago. This news had arrived from Meera, whose ravens had been delayed for some time. Apparently she and her Lord Dustin now had a son about four moons old… Gray's age.

In any case, her news had arrived at the same moment as the other Northern Houses' had. Lord Tyrion was indeed finally close to Winterfell. This motley crew travelling North had not in fact been the Brotherhood Without Banners, as had once been suspected, according to most accounts no one had known that Lord Tyrion was amongst them.

Myra had turned to walk down to the courtyard, she had bundled and covered up, her gloved fingers gripped around her bow. It was cold outdoors, colder than Myra had ever remembered it being. It did not always snow, but when it did the Winterfell was usually covered in at least three feet of snow forcing Myra had to have roofs constantly checked and repaired and the floors kept shovelled for dangerous ice patches.

It was bitterly chilly but Myra needed to focus on something. A thought had been rolling around in her head since she had spoken to Theon, and it wasn't the most pleasant of notions.

Perhaps once, or if, Robb spoke to Theon then Myra could see if it had only occurred to her. Before she brought it up to Robb she wanted to be sure that she even wanted to suggest it.

Myra breathed out a foggy breath, trying to finding her footing on the slippery snow and nocking her arrow. Rolling her shoulders she stared down her ice covered target.

"He's here!"

She let the arrow go, the sound of shattered ice filled the air.

* * *

"I would ask for some salt and bread, but given recent happenings… I may as well ask for the wine I want straight away…"

Robb had taken his seat in the Great Keep next to Myra. Crowned and bearded, he looked as kingly as ever. Myra could almost feel her Robb bristle at the short Lannister's mention of the Freys breaking guest rights.

Disregarding the request for wine Robb spoke "You are over six months late and here with an army…"

"Army?" the Lord of the Rock frowned in played confusion turning his head to glance at his four rugged looking companions, clad in wool and with rough steel. Though one may have looked a little less wild "Surely not my clansmen?"

"Your clansmen." Robb spoke slowly in confirmation, his heavy grey eyes not leaving the blonde man's grinning and brutally scarred face. Ordinarily they would have met outside in the field as they had with Lord Stannis, but the bitter cold would not allow it.

His hair truly seems to hold the sun… Myra remarked to herself, as she silently watched the sharp little man. The uneasy weight of the simple silver band she had to wear for this occasion rested on her head, though once more it was made less uncomfortable by the flowers Robb had taken time to weave over the silver prior to Lord Tyrion's arrival.

"Well I assure you that you've no reason to worry about them, they have no qualms with you…" Lord Tyrion turned again, mockingly seeming to check with each of the clan leaders standing behind him. They all gave a single curt nod. "Just that pesky Lordling of the Vale and his mocking chicken." He turned back to Robb and Myra, clearly referring to Lord Baelish's moniker and true command over Robert Arryn and therefore over the Vale.

"I am still wanted in parts…" Lord Tyrion seemed to ponder for a breath "well, in pieces really… by some, namely my sweet sister. In any case, I hope you do not take offense, I have travelled a dangerous path and it was quite long. While I have a wide gait for a man of my stature, it still took more time than anticipated…" he grinned.

Myra found him to be humourous, his wit reminding her of her mother, but there was an unsettling danger in him. She felt sure that he was smarter than practically everyone in the immediate area. And he had yet to mention terms for his father, his homeland or his wife…

"You too, Your Grace," Lord Tyrion bowed his head slightly, his tone hinting at sardonic as he now addressed a taken aback Myra "You seem to have a rather wide step considering your…" he paused yet again for the right word "…short standing, since I was here last you seemed to have reached new heights all tog…"

"Uncle!" A shout echoed through the Great Hall as Myrcella's blonde head scurried out of one of the passages and ran to her Uncle's arms. Evidently, judging by her outburst, the Princess did not believe that her Uncle had any involvement in her brother's passing away.

Robb, who had been about to angrily interject just before Myrcella had shouted during Lord Tyrion's speech, still had his mouth partially open. He relaxed back into his seat when Myra reached over and squeezed his arm. Myra knew that her place was at Robb's side, but the assertions regarding her sudden title and status were something that she was continually insecure about. Robb held the hand she had rested on him, raising the back of it to his sweet lips, his grey eyes meeting hers in quiet reassurance. He kept his fingers entwined with hers.

"Ah, how are you my darling lamb?" Myra violet gaze drew back to the scene in front of her, where she saw the first genuine expression of happiness spread over the Lord Tyrion's face. In that one expression he looked so much like Jim to her, Myra could not help but smile as well.

Out of the corner of her eye Myra could see Sansa had quietly followed in after Myrcella. The children had been instructed to stay out of the Great Hall under Sansa care. As the younger girl prattled on to her Uncle, Myra wondered if Sansa had purposely allowed Myrcella to disrupt the meeting so that she could see her husband. "Have you seen Uncle Jaime? Mother?"

Myra watched Lord Tyrion's face fall his niece's mention of Jaime, and even further at his sister.

Clearing his throat and clasping the excitable girl's hands in his, the short Lord answered cryptically "Your Uncle Jaime is…" Lord Tyrion looked as though he was resisting spitting up "He is coping with some changes…" Myra's mind ran rampant with what Lord Tyrion could mean.

"His hand? I saw that when he was here last." Myrcella commented.

"No. My darling girl, not his hand" Lord Tyrion sighed in some frustration, though Myra could tell the deep affection he held for his niece. "He has more responsibilities now…" he spoke carefully eventually trailing off, as his green eyes moved passed Myrcella, at long last having spotted Sansa. He let go of his niece's hand and stepped towards Sansa. She had not seen her husband since before the Battle at Blackwater Bay, and though Robb had tried to prepare Sansa for Lord Tyrion's appearance, Myra had to question whether or not the young blue eyed woman was quite expecting what she saw.

"My Lady." The short man bowed his head.

"My Lord." Sansa curtsied, holding herself as composed and steady as Myra had ever seen her.

This must be how well-mannered reunions are conducted… Myra watched, thinking back to how unsophisticated, passionate and sloppy hers had been always been, and would likely always be, with Robb.

Almost nervously the shorter man spoke. "You look well."

"As do you, my Lord." Sansa replied, her demeanour reserved.

Lord Tyrion chuckled shyly "Perhaps a little too much nose" he anxiously rubbed the false tip of his nose.

"Sansa…" Robb spoke up, refocusing the room's attention "we will be done soon. Would you and Princess Myrcella mind waiting a bit longer?"

"Yes, of course…" Sansa looked between her husband and brother. "May I speak with my Lord Husband for moment though… in the hall?" the red haired girl asked her brother. Myra squeezed Robb's hand, silently willing him to consent.

Robb watched Lord Tyrion for a moment before responding "You may, though do not take too long."

They did not. When Lord Tyrion returned, his expression was one of unabashed joy. He told Myrcella that she would find Sansa just outside the doorway.

I'll kiss him. Myra smiled as she recalled Sansa's words, apparently good manners were only necessary in public.

She kept on smiling until a new sound filled the Great Hall. Coming from under the cloak of the less rugged looking of the men was the unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

How had they been quiet for so long? Myra asked herself as her violet gaze fell to the lump and layers of furs at the man's chest.

"You..." Robb called the hunted looking young man forward, further into the light.

"Yes m'lord?" The poor young man desperately asked, as he drew a bundle out from under his bulky cloak and tried quieting the baby wrapped within the dark cloth.

"What babe is that?" Robb inquired, his voice smooth as his countenance.

"Ah…" The boy's light eyes darted from Robb to Lord Tyrion, whose back was to Myra. From this angle it looked as though the Lord of the Rock was shaking his blonde head.

"What is your name?" Myra decided to try to coax the perturbed boy to answer with a gentler question to start.

"It's… ahem," he hesitated before going on "…it's Gendry milady."

"Gendry!" this time the shout came from Sansa, who had evidently lingered around the passage and set aside her manners. Announcing clearly to a surprised room that knew this stranger.

* * *

Myra sighed, watching black wings beat away into the distance. She had sent a single Raven scroll following the events of that day.

_Dear Jim,_

_You should have said. Your brother tried hiding, but you know how good I am at guessing. Hope you are both still well._

_With Love,_

_Birdy _

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**Next post's gonna be a different perspective, seeing what has been up with people elsewhere. Think it will be posted as separate (want to try to keep this story all Starks and Snows – so we'll see…)**

**Talk to me! Really like opinions!**


	4. Interlude: Desert Grip

**Decided not to post separately. **

**So, here's a golden boy chapter, an in-between one-shot. A sort of flashback/ catch-up. **

**Hope you don't... you know... hate it.**

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**Interlude – Desert Grip**

"Look at that fat fucking whore."

"By all the gods…" a man whistled thorough his teeth catching sight of the person his companion was talking about.

It had been hot. Stinking hot. It didn't help that he had to cover up and wear a beard. His forehead pressed against the arm he was resting on the bar. He did not have to worry about the scum around him, his hand was gone but not his sharp senses.

If he lost those perhaps he could have tricked himself in to believing… Jaime breathed out a deep breath, the leather glove that his forehead leaned against was warm but necessary for covering his recognizable gold hand.

His brother had been so disgusted. So repulsed… He wished had not said anything. He wished he could take it all back. That he could have said 'no' to his father.

His heartless fucking father.

It was strange for Jaime to realize exactly how much he had missed his brother. He had tried to prepare, he was aware of the hatred Tyrion could be holding on to but he had not expected the… the… weakness within himself.

And so Jaime went to drink... often. Shaping a typical day in this sweltering heat, hotter than a corpse rotting in a yellow Dornish desert. Tyrosh was surely one of the seven hells. In this hell Jaime had found Tyrion playing at being a jester with a dreadful little dwarf girl… P- Pe- Pansy? Jaime shook his head… Some such stupid name.

All he could really recall was how sadly Tyrion had looked at him. It had winded him, like the dream of that weeping woman who he could not entirely recognize. They were the same.

He had destroyed his little brother.

Left Tyrion to think no one could ever truly want him. That his first wife… Tysha.

Jaime remembered her name.

Tysha… the skinny, frightened, little girl.

It made Jaime's skin crawl, he had helped to save her, only to have her be brutalized at the hands of his sadistic father… just as abusive and spiteful as the Mad King had ever been. It was disgusting.

So young an age, he could not have known what his father had planned. But for his own part in it all, Jaime felt the girl's fate may as well have come by his own hand.

What could he say to his brother? Who he had sworn to himself he would protect, who he had kissed and embraced with more love than anyone in their family had. What could Jaime do but send Tyrion on his way?

That final look was all Jaime had expected for himself and all he had gotten.

"…'magine the fat, wet twat 'tween those huge legs… bet tha' bitch's nice 'n' tigh…"

"May I ask…" Jaime spoke up, his eyes closed and his head still rested against his arm. "To whom you might be referring?"

"…'hom?" the more gruffly voiced of the men scoffed.

"Yes." Jaime sat up, his green eyes facing a rat-faced man and his considerable larger friend. "Whom?" he repeated stone-faced as he pronounced the word clearly.

"Tha' ugly lump ov'r there." The skinny, pointy nosed man gestured towards the door of the tavern.

Jaime looked. At one time he might not have had to. But times had changed, his eyes were new and the world was not as it had been.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth Jaime shook his blond head with a sigh, "No need to be envious, sweetling …" his green gaze fell back to the man "one day you may stand taller than a bar stool…"

The scrawny man's face slowly changed into a scowling one as he worked out exactly what Jaime had said. "Wha' did yah…"

Before the small man could go on or reach for his blade, Jaime grabbed the horn of ale in the rat-faced man's hand gulped down the contents and smashed the mug over the dirty little man's head. The man's friend had no time to react, by the time he had dropped his own drink, Jaime had his sword at the large man's throat and his foot on the ratty man's spine.

"Ah- ah- ah…" Jaime warned as the larger man fingers fumbled with pathetic piece of steel at his hip.

How tiresome…

While Jaime had grown stronger with his left hand, as strong as he ever had been with his right. The drive to fight and live by the sword had left him somewhat. He had been an artist even with a blunt blade he could carve out true masterpieces. If he chose to, he could still create that same magic. But in him the hunger had calmed, without Cersei constantly whispering in his ear, telling him what he was... reminding him, trapping him with assertions that he was simply one half of a whole person. Jaime could feel himself changing. Though in truth he felt as though he was growing, filling in the space in himself that he had once given so blindly to Cersei. Needless to say however, what he could and would do if he found the right cause…

"Now" he began his green eyes keeping track of the happenings within shit filled establishment, remaining coolly focused on the ruddy man standing before him. "A lesson in etiquette…" Jaime hummed at the confusion in the larger man's expression "a lesson in manners…" he clarified. "You" he put more his weight on to the foot holding down the man and dug the sword further into the bigger man's flesh without drawing blood "do not go around calling expecting ladies 'bitch' or 'whore' especially" he pushed his foot and sword a bit further "when she is my lady, expecting my child" the sword ticked some red out of the man's neck. "Nod…" Jaime's expectant gaze moved from the man before him to the man on the ground as they frantically wagged their heads. "Good." Jaime drew back, still on his guard, he waited "Off you go."

The men took his permission and ran. She too turned and took off.

"Why…?" she asked when he followed her out of the tavern, into a crowded colourful street and down a dusty, dry alley.

"Because I did not fight my way into you, to have you ridiculed."

She stopped in her tracks, turning to face him, the fear in her wide eyes clear though, as always, she refused to back down "Lannister's love their prizes."

"Yes, but you're not a prize"

"Of course. Someone like the Queen or your sister…" she began.

"Maybe they are prizes." Jaime nonchalantly shrugged "But they aren't you and you are who I want."

"Why?" she asked her voice small.

Jaime could only shrug again. He did not know. One day it had all become so clear to him. It struck him without warning. Helpless he knew that he had to fight for her. "You're the only girl I was ever willing to marry."

"Why?"

"There was no other way to get between your legs." Jaime teased, "and…" he moved nearer "I can be myself with you, I finally know what it is be a whole person… and it has everything to do with learning what I have by being with you…" the fingers of his left hand traced the bugle at her stomach "… Brienne."

His Birdy had seen it in him, what he could be, but it was Brienne that had made him get 'there' just by being herself. He told Myra things and she guessed what he did not tell, he told Brienne everything about Tysha, about his father, the Mad King, the dream of the weeping woman, his mother, his brother and sister. It was Brienne who he wanted to tell, who he wanted.

"We'll have to run again…" her large blue eyes darted in the direction they had come from. The danger of remaining in so foreign a place after threatening some locals was not to be ignored. Especially as he was meant to be in hiding…

"Perhaps not the brightest of deeds …" Jaime nodded, agreeing with her tone of lament over his very public display "But this city stinks of piss anyway. And there are other Free Cities that Uncle Ger and Tyg would have wanted us to visit for the sake of true Lannister tradition," he blithely joked trying to dispel her worry, though he worried himself.

He felt uncertain of what could be waiting for him should he dare return to Westeros, he was still seen as a traitor to the Taraygren throne and, in the ever vengeful eyes of his sister, to the Baratheon crown as well. And still it remained that he was a Lannister.

Jaime had spent his entire life being recognized, it had been quite wearying really. Constantly being asked if he remembered this obscure person or that certain face from the thousands of nameless people he had encountered from the many places he had been.

Those damned lines of his family and of his life, had now converged with those that his Birdy had read in his skin. And alas, at his very centre, that was who he was…

A Lannister. In all that he did he was sure of that, just as sure as he was of his place with Brienne and to stay in that place he had to be alive, and to be alive he had to stay away from Westeros until all of the pieces in this game had settled. That dragon girl was moving slower than any conqueror he had ever heard of. She was still out past the Red Waste, rumoured to have taken a taste for slaver's blood beginning in Astapor and now moving on to other cities in Slaver's Bay.

If the wench moved faster, then at least Jaime could figure his future out further… running and hiding or facing his fate by the hand of a Queen or some Faceless Man funded by his spiteful twin.

Jaime could see the picture in his sister's head… honourable Stannis Baratheon determinedly losing the war he was still fighting, the Greyjoys raiding the paralyzed Westerlands, the Tyrells closing in at the Red Keep and the paranoid belief that Tyrion had killed Joffery. Though the final theory had likely become unpopular to most anyone else at court.

Especially with the sudden departure of the slippery Lord Baelish to the Vale where he had effectively take up Jaime's short-lived mantle of 'Warden of the East', acting as the remaining guardian to the lack-wit heir of House Arryn. And then there was also Lady Olenna Tyrell, suddenly having a less volatile king for her granddaughter to wed in little King Tommen.

Further disproving the treasonous allegations regarding Tyrion, was the fact that in the instant that Jaime had mentioned Brienne's state, any small amount of doubt he had held about his brother's activities vanished. By his expression alone, Jaime had known for sure that Tyrion could not have killed his own nephew, no matter how tempted he may have been.

Jaime had never been one for courtly life but even from his great distance he could see the vice tightening at King's Landing.

Cersei would no doubt be hunting for any sign of Tyrion. Just as sure as she was likely hunting for any sign of Jaime for his 'betrayal'.

Having left the King's Guard citing a legitimate aliment, Jaime could have taken Casterly Rock for himself, but nothing had ever made that title feel right for Jaime. Lording over the Rock was never a responsibility he had wanted, it was too much like sitting on a throne… one made of gold and not swords. So he had given claim of their childhood home over to his younger brother.

He had briefly entertained the idea of faulting the Northerners for their part in the Iron Born's freedom to sack the Westerlands, but then he thought of the Taragyren babes slain in their home at the behest of his father and the harsh means that were necessary to keep a realm together. His father had instilled that in him at least. And for that he could understand, though as it stood, it remained painful.

The ravaging of his homeland had struck Jaime deeply and he had offered to help Tyrion in taking back the lands. In turn Tyrion had made it very clear that he had no use for a 'cripple'.

Judging by Tyrion's disdain of him, Jaime knew he would probably never see the Rock or even the Westerlands again. He could stay in poverty in the Free Cities, live with a different name and create a life with his wife. But he could also return to Westeros, Evenfall Hall in Tarth was a smaller keep, removed from the politics but of some note. If it was safe to be a Lannister of Westeros he would wear and carry on the name. If it was not safe, then the name did not have to matter to the public, all that mattered was staying alive for his wife and child.

If only that dragon wench would hurry up!

"I…" Brienne's large blue eyes flitted over his face, she was slightly taller and looking down at him.

He would show Birdy now. He would point out Brienne's eyes. It had taken him almost an age to notice but notice he did and he'd be damned if the sea did not live in his Lady's gaze.

Her large hands entwined with his real one as she went on quietly "I've been thinking of names…"

"Something for that oaf again?" Jaime unenthusiastically rolled his eyes.

"The 'oaf' helped us escape from those sellswords at Pentos." Brienne corrected, though she smiled. Her crooked, gapped teeth showing how she how lighthearted she had grown in Jaime's relatively vulgar company.

"That one?..." Jaime frowned, as he realized to which dolt she was referring.

"Yes… who got himself killed."

"Not for us though." He countered.

"Aye." Brienne nodded though she went on to argue. "But he is dead all the same, and he did save us…"

"You saved us" Jaime interjected, his green gaze roaming over her freckled face with some consideration. At one time she was so unyielding Jaime was not sure how he managed to keep from beating her head in, anytime that she would open her mouth to bleat he would grow sick of her presence, but now…

"Fine then. Something with a 'K-' then…" he relented, shaking longhaired his head once again "What sort of fucking name starts with a 'K'?"

"Well" Brienne's blue eyes fell to her relatively swollen stomach under the loose fitting breeches and tunic she was wearing "we have another moon to find one."

"Gods! Has it been that long sinc…" Jaime stopped short, clearing his throat and looking away down the alley.

Brienne nodded understanding his sudden break in speaking "He should have reached Winterfell by now…" It seemed to him that he had only sent word of Tyrion to his Birdy a few days ago.

Jaime lifted his head, stretching a false smile over his lips. "I wasn't thinking of that…"

Brienne returned his smile with a soft genuine one, raising one of her hands to cup his bearded cheek. "All right." At one time he might have recoiled at her touch but his changed face wanted and welcomed the comfort of her caress.

"I wasn't." Jaime carried on defensively, clearly sensing how Brienne saw through him.

She kissed his frown with a smile. "All right."

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**Hate it? Wanna throw shoes at me? **

**So this is the ship for me, sort of a mirror of Robb/ Myra… sorry SanSan amigos. A lot of babies huh?**

**Myra will be back up soon!**

**Timeline of my story is a bit shifted, it might not be good story telling… but I want things to happen. **


	5. Chapter 4: Cold Burn

**Hi! Hope everyone's doing all right. Was almost out of withdrawal but then saw a random episode on TV. Damnit! Never gonna get over this show… Sorry about clunkiness and editing monkeys.**

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**Chapter Four – Cold Burn**

"May I speak with you, Your Grace?"

"Ahh!" Myra startled for a moment. She had just gotten Bo to take his nap on a pile of furs by Silver in the library and was cradling a yawning Gray against her chest. Abby and Mal were roaming somewhere around the Keep safely with Robb. Leaving Myra free to sit on the floor next to her sleeping son, where she had been slowly marvelling over the marked differences in her dearest boys. Making note of every inch of these little beings that she loved more than herself. The brownish-gold of Bo's soft curls and the straight black wisps of Gray's hair, she had been stroking the tops of their delicate little heads. It seemed so unreal and yet so right. Her children. She had wanted to weep, her happiness in this private moment had overwhelmed her.

And so, naturally the arrival of a new voice had startled her into standing, though she made sure to hold Gray soundly. Silver too had moved suddenly to stand protectively at the ready over Bo, her rumbling growl and purple glare aimed in Lord Tyrion's direction.

"Silver…" Myra tried calming her wolf, who sat her hind legs down but kept her front legs propped up over Bo's resting form.

The short blond man looked frightened, his green eyes darting between Myra and the large direwolf, his hands raised in peace. Myra was still getting used to that. Those fast eyes from the outside world that had once filled her with dread, still made her uneasy, but he had an openness with his expression when he knew there was no point in hiding. In this moment he knew that Silver could rip him to shreds he lost nothing by masking his fear of the wolf, except to show Myra that he was human, despite his crafty mind. It was thus, that those same eyes that had frightened her into weakness now also reassured Myra, in that they stated that Sansa would be safe with this wily Lord in the South.

"I am sorry my Lord. She reacts this way to Ji…" the silver-haired girl cleared her throat, quickly correcting herself "Ser Jaime too."

"Just the treacherous Lannisters then…" Lord Tyrion stated acerbically, dropping his hands to pensively look up at Myra. Eventually, he took some time to glance around at the aged volumes on the dusty shelves, before commenting "I loved this room when I came here last. So many forgotten words and pages that no else in the world had…"

"I love this place as well" Myra nodded, watching her curious dawdling brother-in-law "Can I help you my Lord? Are you searching for something to read?"

Shaking his head and taking in a breath, his gold ringed fingers fretfully picked at the spines of books within reach of his arm. "Odd things those…" he gestured towards the bundled baby in her arms.

Looking lovingly down at her son, she smiled softly at Gray's peaceful opened mouth and sleeping face. "I suppose…"

"Sansa seems quite enamoured with that boy…" the little Lord went on.

Myra lifted her violet gaze. Wondering if Sansa's husband was possibly nervous about impending fatherhood. "Is Sansa…?"

She did not get to finish, before Lord Tyrion had shaken his head again. "No Your Grace. My marriage bed may well be freshly laid snow…" he alluded to the blank cleanliness of virginal sheets. "Though it suddenly seems I am with child anyway." He distractedly sighed "All the work none of the fun…"

Pushing her silver hair behind her ear, Myra tried to think of the correct words to say. Looking away from the Lord of the Rock she thought of how quickly Sansa had grown attached to that babe, barely four moons old. The young man, Gendry, had sworn to every god he could think of that he was not the boy's father. Sansa had heard tell of this Gendry character… she said he looked precisely like the dead King Robert and recalled him from what little Ayra had spoken about while on their short-lived journey back to Winterfell together.

The babe had arrived at the young man's feet and for the fraternal love that he bore the child's mother, Gendry had left his Brotherhood to travel the child unscathed to Winterfell. Robb had been suspicious of the infant boy, but Sansa had scarcely let the babe out her arms. The young blue-eyed girl seemed to know him at once and became obsessed by him. The note that had come with the baby had stated, in austere and unromantic terms, the origins of the child.

'This was never meant to be my life. Care for him. His father's colours are blue and black. He is a Snow, for Jon. Conard, for father. But I call him Con, for what he is.' The short letter had made Robb expression grim, though it was the last words, confirming Ayra's identity that had made him sad rather than mad 'Stick 'em with the pointy end.' When he explained his acceptance of the boy to Myra privately, Robb had chuckled without humour. The words were a bittersweet reminder of his forever changed baby sister who had once been so endeared to him.

Myra could understand Lord Tyrion's unease. Letter or no, Sansa had taken to caring for Con, who looked so much like Ayra and in turn, according to Rickon, like the late Lord Eddard. The fair, red-haired Lady of the Rock had been driven to distraction. Myra was sure Lord Tyrion feared that Sansa would not want children now that she cared for her nephew, Conard Snow, as she would a son.

Gray began whimpering. "Shhh…" Myra soothed, though the small boy started to stretch and whine. "Oh shhh. Now my little Gray bird. Hush now."

"Bird…" Tyrion voice prodded quietly, drawing Myra's attention again as Gray settled back into sleep with a small yawn. The blond haired Lord went on "It seems you have my brother's same slipping tongue."

"I beg your pard…"

"Jim." He replied to Myra's half asked question. "Bird…" he went on raising his eyebrows in obvious meaning. Before Myra could open her mouth to speak, Lord Tyrion carried on "But that is hardly what I came to you to talk about…"

"What then, my Lord?"

"My darling niece. Myrcella. I'm sure you agree she is a sweet girl with no malice in her heart."

"If you are going to try to bargain for her freedom. Then I'm afraid…"

"No, Your Grace."

"Myra." She stated for him to call her, when he paused.

His steady green eyes observed her past his false nose. "I sincerely would have you know that my intention is not to create strife…" the heavy way in which he was addressing her, made Myra anxious.

"Do you…" he coughed "… do you know what this is?" stepping forward he held out his gold adorned hand. In the middle of his palm rested what looked to be a dark dried up berry.

"Barberry…" Myra was very familiar with it. Both Beena and Maester Loel had separately asked Myra if she wished consume it when she had become pregnant again so soon after Bo. She had not ever considered such a thing for herself, especially after Rian, Myra could not imagine keeping a child of her and Robb's love out of this world when she had love and a home to give them. Though Myra had made sure that the berry was offered without question, along with other such herbs at Lena's House, to serve the women who did not want or were not in a position or place in their lives to care for a child… she wondered where Lord Tyrion had come across one, he had not visited the gardens since arriving at Winterfell.

"Quite right." Lord Tyrion awkwardly nodded.

Myra's mind leaped and bounded, she questioningly looked over the Lord of the Rock "Why are you showing me this?"

"Myrcella, too, became familiar with it while working with my Lady wife in the gardens of Winterfell." Myra's heart thudded against her ribs as he spoke. "No doubt you have heard tell of my sister…"

She could already see where he was going with this talk. Unable to speak she simply nodded, her lilac eyes wide with fear, she clutched Gray to her breast.

"You must be made aware. Myrcella did not know, she was told that it was a secret family medicine for a healthy babe. She thought she was helping her friend. She was given the signs to look for, the method to unwittingly deliver this poison to you."

"Wha- what?" blinking her eyes closed, Myra tried to keep her balance. This had all been dealt with, she had put it to rest and here he was trying to make her feel the ache of it again "You're lying…"

Mournfully he pressed on "I wish I was. My sister is a jealous, vindictive beast…"

He went on speaking as Myra hearing went fuzzy and her head swam. Her memories raced back to Myrcella keeping her company up until her body began to change with Rian, she thought of kind girl being made to do this evil thing that Lord Tyrion was suggesting… she thought of the woman in the South that she had pitied. How? When she had lost her own grown child… how could this woman even think to do such a thing?

"You're still speaking?" Myra interrupted when she refocused her eyes and realized that Lord Tyrion had gone on talking. "I don't know what you're saying…"

"Myrcella did not do it. Luckily she became aware of what it was before she could use it…" Myra tried to breathe as he went on speaking "Nonetheless she has been ravaged with guilt about it and told me now because…"

"You're her uncle." Myra spoke softly as her head spun with questions. How could that woman do this to her own daughter? To someone she did not know and had no cause to harm? The confusion and sudden burst of pain had hit Myra straight in the gut, she did not know what she was meant to do or feel.

She was sure of the hate though…

Anything she may have felt for that woman in the South had turned immediately to hate.

"I suspect she believed the rumours…" Lord Tyrion's voice trailed off as he offered a possible answer for her unasked questions.

"Rumours…" Myra repeated. Realizing that it really was her own fault. Her own stupid fault for befriending Jaime Lannister.

Gray squirmed in her arms again.

Staring down at him and then down to Bo she it struck her after a moment.

"No…" it was that horrible woman's fault. Myra knew she had done nothing to deserve such scorn. That bitch would have had done this hideous thing to Myra's family.

"Sorry, Your Grace?" Lord Tyrion asked.

"Are you?" Myra bitterly returned, lifting her gaze to her brother-in-law.

"I truly am. My sister is irrational, she is possessive and she is cruel. I would not wish what she planned to do to you on anyone."

"Not even her?"

"Not anyone." He stepped forward, holding out a handkerchief from his pocket up to Myra.

Myra had not even been aware that tears had been seeping out of the corners of her eyes. Her hate had numbed her. Her acute hate, not of Jim nor Myrcella nor Tyrion, just of that bent mind in the South.

"What's wrong?" Myra almost fell apart, Robb's concerned voice broke through the thick air in the library. Both Lord Tyrion and Myra moved to face the fierce King of Winter, who was angrily watching his sister's husband. "You've upset my wife Lannister."

Myra all but whimpered, drawing his stormy grey attention "Robb…"

"I will leave you." Lord Tyrion bowed his head slightly, before brushing by Robb's form and out of the library.

Myra crumbled as soon as Robb looked at her "Robb…" she stated again, the crushing sadness made her knees weak. He rushed forward to hold her and Gray, as she no doubt looked as though she was about to fall.

Slowly but surely, she told him. It may have been wiser not to. He had shaken with rage, cursed the Queen Regent and spoke of how he wished to go back to King's Landing to stick a stake through her smug face or better yet have Grey Wind rip her apart. He made mentioned of Myra's friendship with Jaime, but did not push that subject further once Myra had expressed her guilt and her thoughts on the matter.

Any kind of act of vengeance with the entire North moving down passed the Wall was no longer a viable option. However, in his time holding Myra and Gray in his lap on the floor of the library, it seemed that Robb had become resolved to put into motion the idea that had occurred to Myra following her chat with Theon.

They would keep the children of the South in the Northern homes instead of returning them their families as they had considered doing. Leveraging the children to draw the forces of the South up to the Wintering Lands.

Lord Tyrion had already offered his clansmen and those he could spare from the Rock, once he had returned to his rightful seat in the Westerlands. But the Starks of Winterfell would make the Houses who would otherwise not care two wits about the North take notice and help.

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Little Bridget had arrived only eleven months after Gray had. Robb had returned to Winterfell in time for her birth. Though in truth he had come back to implore that Myra go South to live with Con and Sansa who had left for Casterly Rock some months ago. The Lord of the Rock, once given over his home, had taken time and measures to establish his hold over the lands, pushing the Greyjoys further South towards the Reach and checking his steadily weakening father.

And though a self-concerned man, he felt the call to fight against the menace in the North. Myra had not known him long but in him she saw a desire to witness the happenings of the world for himself. So, over a year later, following the birth of daughter, Jonelyn also known as Lady Joni Lannister of Casterly Rock, he trekked back North to join his clansmen and add his Lannister forces to the efforts. Along with him came some of the Ladies Mormont who, by carrying on mining the gold in Westerlands, had restored much of the wealth that their family had lost due to the spending of their fugitive heir.

Sansa had remained at Winterfell while Lord Tyrion had retaken his home, hence why only 'some' of the Mormont forces had returned. The Mormont forces that had stayed behind eased Robb's weariness over sending Sansa to the Rock where the little Lord's grasp over the lands and the loyalty of the Lannister men that had been left to guard the Keep could be questioned. Myra understood his fears, despite her confidence in Lord Tyrion, she too had felt nervous about Sansa's going South alone yet again.

"I'm not alone…" Sansa had been feeding Con some mashed up potatoes, the one thing she could make and the one thing Con seemed to like. Her blue eyes had flitted to the letter from her husband telling of his victories over the Greyjoys "Not anymore." The boy had been nine moons old when she left with him for the safer South.

Sansa was not the only one departing. Myra was sure that a flood of people had vanished from their homes nearly every the night.

The Last Hearth, Bear Island and even Karhold had been passed over by those Northerns who wished to remain in their homelands. They travelled for places further away from the Wall and the terror. Once Winter's Town was filled up, Winterfell and other Great Keeps had gone on as they were simply due the fact that those people who had remained in North had flocked to these more sound homes. While many other found their way further South or across the Narrow Sea.

There had not been any word from Jim, still the rumour of the Dragon Queen had carried on spreading but getting word of what was occurring in the East was difficult… Getting word from anywhere with Ravens in this bone chilling weather was difficult. Nonetheless, those who chose to travel South seemed to be more concerned with escaping what was at their doorstep, which was in some way similar to how Myra felt about the looming threat in the desert… the North had much more present and pressing issues to deal with now.

Rickon too had suffered when Sansa had left, with only twelve name-days at the time he had chosen to stay in the North, at Winterfell and at least wait for his brothers if he could not fight with them. Myra had yet to hear a real word from Bran, though she carried on trying to reach him... sending news of the death Meera's husband at the hands of wights.

It was saddening for Myra's dear friend at the Neck. Meera's mother-in-law, Lady Barbery Dustin, had only passed away some months before the death of her adopted son. In her Raven scroll Meera's use of words made it sound as though as she grown to see Ser Petar as friend since the time of their marriage. Barben, Meera's son with Petar, was heir to Barrowton but still a babe and leaving Meera a widow left to run a Keep.

What Myra had feared every day and night that Robb was out there had happened to her friend… it made her feel so helpless.

Adding to what she sought to tell Bran, Myra had also sent news of the dreams growing stranger. Bathed in red flame and with eyes changing from red to rich blues and dark blacks… helpless.

Poor Princess Myrcella had suffered as well with the loss of her uncle and aunt's company at Winterfell. Myra had not even wanted to look at the blond haired Princess for some time, she could not think of the sweet girl without trembling with rage at the girl's mother. In her heart too, she also feared that Myrcella may have lied to uncle and only found out the berry's properties after the loss of Rian. But that doubt vanished when Myra had finally let on that she knew. The fourteen year old girl almost fainted.

"It is your mother." Myra stated apologetically "What she tried to do to you. And to my family that I am hurt by, Myrcella…"

"She lied…" the girl had mumbled weakly, she added on as though she had only just realized the betrayal aloud "…to me."

"I know." Myra filled with sympathy "That should hurt, I'm sorry that you must see her in this way…" she stated eying the sniffing girl "But I am unspeakably grateful, Myrcella. Thank you for not letting yourself… do it…" she trailed off, while the blond haired girl nodded.

The plot with the children of the South had spurred many of the Southern Houses into action, even the Iron Throne had consent to such movement. No doubt for the simple reason that they were being given permission to enter the North, Myra was sure that the Southern Lords and Ladies assumed that after the land of Winter was flooded with Southerns, getting those same Southerns back out once the threat had been vanquished would be impossible.

Myra did not fear this. The Southerns would have an easier time living in Dorne than living in the North without the aid of the Northern people, the remaining of whom were loyal to their overloads as a point of pride. It had taken the men and women of the North a great many ages to learn how to live in the wild land and respond or react upon instinct to whatever there might be in such a hard climate. The Southerns would have no chance…

Once the threat had been vanquished…

Something searing like a heat had burned through by her ribs the other day, but she had to remind herself…

Robb said that killing the creatures was not difficult, as along they were able to keep a steady line against them, it was like picking off flies… all the men really had to survive was the cold. It was the cold, not the Others that made the men run, made the men desperate and in the end was what had killed most of the men that had fallen…

And so she would have to remind herself of the other certainty in her mind… as sure as the blood of the First Men, Myra was confident that Starks had Winter's ice in their veins. The Winter could never turn against Robb. Even if it did, his life was Myra's and he did not have her permission to leave.

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**Sorta "we're back" chapter I hope. Again sorry been having writer's block, just gotta work through it… Hope that everyone's summer is working out.**


	6. Chapter 5: Frozen Shifts

**Hi! Sorry it took so long. Hope everyone's doing well and that the rest of Summer's TV programming hasn't got you down or anything. Sorry about editing :S**

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**Chapter Five – Frozen Shifts**

For two and a half years this is how it went on. Myra had been daydreaming about the peach Robb had fed her on the day of Abby's birth, had been about eight moons since Myra's twenty-second nameday and for about eight moons she had been coping with a terrible craving for that Southern fruit.

Beena had acted as though she had won some victory. "You see there girl?" The mid-wife had inspected Myra's clothed stomach. Even though Beena had said she had given up, the growth as the months wore on had been a bit more pronounced than the nearly undetectable growth of Myra's past pregnancies and it had been too tempting for Beena.

Bouncing a two year old Bridget on her hip and rolling her violet eyes at Mal and Abby who had been observing from the bed, Myra chuckled. Rickon was playing with Gray and Bo, near Shaggydog's large black shape. Everyone was getting along today, without bickering or throwing fits…

Rickon was a big help to Myra. He was a kind boy to entertain the children. But as he was quickly growing taller than Myra, and with his fifteenth name-day just having passed, the silver-haired Queen was having a difficult time keeping her Little Pup with her and out of the fight. Nonetheless, Rickon's stocky dark wolf had already gone North, far more than Silver had. Robb had mentioned the fierce green-eyed wolf's sudden and regular appearance at many desperate moments at various fights.

Robb… Myra rubbed her belly. When Lord Tyrion had deemed it time to reinforce the Rock, he also had given Robb a chance to travel to spend time with his family. Still, Robb would likely miss the birth of this child too. When he had last been at Winterfell, he had pushed Myra away from examining the icy burn at his side, just under the childhood scar that ran down from his collarbone. He had been amused by Myra's absorption of more salty bedroom conduct and language from her time mingling with the rougher ladies of the North. Instead of being disgusted he had joked, lapping at and tickling her skin, stating that she owed him the naming of at least the next few children. Given their record of meetings and the children that resulted, he traced on her skin names that he would under no circumstance want for his children. 'Guyman', 'Ransall', 'Pearly'.

At that last one she had scoffed.

"Who's to know what might enter your mind in the moment, my little dragon…"

He had even jokingly started to make a written list, though Myra was not sure that it was entirely a joke by the end. He seemed to be making sure in case he would not get a chance to have a say in the matter at all. He had even gone to see Theon upon that last visit, though Robb no longer held any love for the man, he had granted Theon's frail and aching form the right to be escorted for spells of time outside of his cramped chamber.

There was a knock on the door. "Your Grace?" followed by the head of Keyen Moore, a member of the household guard, poking into the room.

The people who had been collecting around Winterfell had been brought into the Great Hall, space had been cleared, beds had been set up so that the heat of Winterfell was not wasted. She made the same sort of use with much of the Dreadfort and those who travelled there.

However, Myra was not one to abandon all defenses. She had made sure that any tunnels or secret passages of Winterfell and the Dreadfort were sealed for the time and that at Winterfell both the Great Keep and library were kept guarded for her family at all times. These were all new necessities and orders, Myra had thrown up practically every night for six months filled with nervousness over the her handling of the situation.

But ultimately having extra's hands to keep the fires burning, to hold the homestead in order and to keep Sansa's glass garden growing had been a blessing. Myra had also taken to adding people to her lessons with Abby, Mal and Rickon. Those with Mal and Abby on letters and houses and those with Rickon on reading and the histories, much of time Rickon simply practiced his reading of the histories aloud for those around to hear.

A sense of community had formed, many of the people who had been left were left by the men who had gone to fight or simply just gone. They were the women, the elderly and the young. It was not only Myra teaching, there were other tales, such as those about Rickon's lighting bugs, the myths and magic that the people told each other. Any squabbles were quick to be resolved as Myra was quick to give the person unwilling to cooperate the option of leaving Winterfell and trying to fare better outside of the fortress walls.

"You have a guest." Keyen stated.

"A guest?" Myra watched the guard, who was obviously hesitant to speak. "What do they look like?"

"I can't figure much, other than bearded and wearing furs. I believe it may be a family seeking shelter…"

"Oh. Of course…" Myra frowned, it was odd considering most people had sought shelter many years ago, as soon as the cold had struck. Nonetheless she moved to sit Bridget down by Rickon, Gray and Bo on the floor. But the girl whinged and clung to her mother's neck. "Now darling don't be…" Myra sighed as the little only gripped harder. "All right." Myra sighed, rubbing the girl's back.

"Ma!" Abby all but shouted from the bed. "Is it Poppa?" Her sweet violet eyes lit up with hopefulness. At five Abby was amazing, having had overheard of her lost brother when Myra had confided in Mal, Abby had name her slim grey wolf 'Ry' for Rian.

Dark haired and violent eyed, Abby was so strong headed Myra had to remind herself to keep calm daily, especially when either Bo, Gray or both were also typically tugging at Myra's legs or shouting in unison. Bridget would usually hold her hands over her ears at those time when Myra was holding her, or with her dark grey eyes and chubby little fingers she would try to shush the other children, patting her mother's hair in an attempt to help.

At times it was exhausting, mad and scary and Myra would wish that Sansa had stayed on a bit longer so that the elegant Lady of the Rock could find some way to teach her children everything that Myra was sure she was meant to be teaching her little Winter Princes and Princesses.

Other times… most times she preferred them as they were.

Myra thought this, while Abby's question sparked a loud burst of unruly sound from all of the children. Abby had remembered her father, missed him and for some time had grown excited at the sound of horses approaching the gate. When Robb had come back last, Abby had been aware enough to realize she had not been the first to see him. She had not spoken to him, though he apologized. She pulled his hair when he tried to pick her up and bit his hand tried to tuck her dark hair behind her small ear.

He tried saying that he was sorry, explaining that it had been chance that Mal, Myra, Bo and Bridget had been in his path when he arrived. That whole day Abby had been stubbornly angry. But before they had all gone to sleep, the little girl had appeared like a dark blur, climbing into Robb's arms and crying, until she fell asleep. Myra had gently played with the soft dark curls of her daughter's head, resting on Robb's chest. The little girl would whimper if Robb even made a move to leave her alone to sleep, the next morning Abby had been ecstatically happy to find that her father was still there and had not left in the middle of the night… nearly as happy as Myra had been.

Stating that she did not know what the visitor was about, Myra promised to tell the children as soon as she knew. Asking Rickon and Mal to watch the younger ones, as she left Myra also gave a request to Beena to keep an eye on them. Following Keyen, they walked past the target hung at the end of the torch lit hall. It had become too cold to practice for any length of time outdoors, so Myra had let Rickon practice within the safety of this hall at certain times. Only a year and Mal would start too…

"Your Grace?" Keyen interrupted her thoughts, he was a merry sort, only a year or two older then Myra with short brown hair. He was kindly, quick to jest, often pleasing the children with his funny faces.

"How do like them for art?" She nodded back at the target.

"A good start for the North I suppose, Your Grace." He joked, opening the door to the small chamber where he had left the guests to be received.

"A right side better than those painted ponies South I'd wager." Myra smiled, shifting Bridget over to her other hip.

"I'd say so."

Myra gasped, rushing past Keyen towards the voice inside the room. When she saw him there smiling, bearded, she walked right up to him and shoved him with only one hand, though it was still hard enough to make him stagger back a few steps.

"Your Grace, shall I…" she heard Keyen as he began to near behind her with some concern.

"No. Thank you, Keyen." She turned to face the confused looking guard by the door "If you could just wait outside. I would like a moment."

Bowing his head, the guard left the room.

"Let me just put her down, so I can…" Myra spoke as she stood Bridget on the ground, turning with every intention of shoving him again, but when she saw his familiar face she found herself hugging him around the waist instead.

"Aren't you a changeable little thing, Birdy?"

"Shut up." She pulled away from his figure all bundled up for the cold. Myra could not stop from smiling, it might have been odd but he looked so much as had when they had first met that she felt rather giddy.

His green eyes shifted to the bump at her belly then the little girl waddling by Myra's legs. "Though it seems that some things do not change. Do they Birdy?"

"Bridg…" Before Myra could finish her introduction, she heard a squeal of pain from her daughter. Looking down she saw that a grubby little hand had grabbed around a lock of her daughter's thick silver-gold hair.

"Bridie" a grubby little menace that was attached to the grubby little hand beamed proudly at Bridget.

Myra immediately, bent forward rushing to comfort her daughter, who was silent but holding her head in pain. Myra loathed seeing any of children in pain at the hands of anyone or anything. She could feel tears from Bridget's deep grey eyes on her shoulder, watching accusingly as the dirty little boy proceeded to climb up Jaime's back and all over his form in general.

"No, no. I said Birdy." Jaime rolled his gaze up to look at the boy who had perched his chin a top Jaime's blond haired head.

"Bridie" the boy pointed determinedly at Bridget, who had turned her head to face the two males.

Myra's anger wavered for a moment, as she looked the boy over. She could make out the yellow of his hair, under layers of dirt from travel, but his eyes were an exact copy that Myra could not mistake anywhere.

"Where is Brienne?"

"So you did guess right…"

"And I see you got my letters. I was so worried." Myra had recalled her constant delivery of Raven scrolls over the years. Jaime frowned for a moment "Jim?" she asked raising a brow at his silence.

"That was not my intent. I was simply on the move for quite a while. Brienne is well I assure you…"

"And that…" she nodded to the boy who now seemed to be in a staring contest with Bridget and was smirking a smile that Myra had seen so many times before on Jim.

"This three year old beast here" Jaime grinned, flipping the boy off his back to stand in front of him "…is Kol Lannister, my son." He ruffled the boy's long hair, Myra bit her lips to keep her internal explosion of joy restrained. "And Brienne, my wife…" Jaime added the unnecessary title, stating it clearly for the enjoyment of saying it out loud "… has just gone to relieve herself. And Cadeyrn and Tyken, the twins, are at Casterly Rock…"

"The twins?" Myra gaped. A son was one thing but her Jim with twins? With three sons… "At Casterly Rock?"

Wrestling and wrapping his arms around his eldest son to keep the boy still, Jaime teased "Not an entirely new concept, Birdy. And yes. Casterly Rock…" his expression changed slightly as he went on "…with dark and light brown hair they look nothing like me," though he spoke with a smile his grip on his son tightened protectively and his tone of voice was taut. Myra could guess why… with his vindictive sister believing rumours and with Kol so clearly being Jaime's son it was not safe for the boy to be anywhere near Jaime's homeland.

"Bridie…" young Kol's high pitched voice piped in again, as he tried in vain to get out his father's grasp.

"Her name is Bridget." Myra stared at the boy, who resembled Jaime more and more the longer she looked at him. Myra resisted the desire to squeal at the similarities, instead following the urge to defend her daughter. "And you hurt her."

"Say sorry lad." Jaime prompted, looking down at the boy in his arms. The child lolled his head back to look up at his father, plainly opposed to the idea.

Bridget's head rested heavy against Myra's shoulder, though her tears had dried Myra could still feel the girl's uneasiness over the boy doing it again.

Manoeuvring with her swollen belly to bend to be eye level with the blue eyed boy, Myra stood Bridget on the ground while keeping her arms around her daughter's tiny form. Her violent eyes watched as the boy stepped nearer, once Jaime had released him.

"Sorry Bridie…" he seemed be sincere in the gesture.

"Father said 'Bird…'" Jaime was cut off in his correction, by the sound of his son's scream this time.

"Bridie!" Myra exclaimed not realising the wrong name had slipped out her mouth, she tried to pry her daughter's pudgy little hand out of Kol's muddied blond hair.

Jaime moved forward too, bending to wrap an arm around his son's middle and using his good hand to try to help Myra.

But Bridget would not relent, by the time they had been pulled apart the little girl had ripped out a chunk of the boy's thick blond hair.

Kneeling down as well, Jaime checked his son's scalp, kissing the small patch of redden skin there and putting his cold false hand against the heated skin. All the while Myra watched in surprise, her violet eyes wide.

"I so sorry Jim… Kol. She never… even when her brothers or sister…" the little boy's bottom lip began to tremble, letting go of Bridget, Myra shuffled forward on her knees. "Oh! I'm so sorry Kol" she hugged the child as he began to cry.

"I don't think it's you who should be sorry, Birdy" Jaime stated, though he sounded more amused than angry.

"Bridget…" Myra called to her daughter.

The little girl came forward when she saw Kol's weeping face, her dark grey eyes wide she held out the hand filled with gold hair to him.

"Ah, don't worry. He pulls out more hair himself, by running wild and getting it caught on things…" Jaime spoke to the two year old as though she was not only just learning words, before shifting his green focus to Myra "I swear Bridy it is easier to travel with babes than a child with some name-days past."

"Bridie…" Kol mumbled, taking his hair back. Before Myra or Jaime could stop him, Kol tugged on Bridget's silver-gold hair again, though this time gently and with a softer, tear-stained smile.

"Babes?" Myra asked wondering how old Jim and Brienne's twins were, as she observed the strange exchange.

"Aye. Cade and Tyk are no more than four moons old..."

"Almost four." Another familiar, deeper voice clarified for Myra.

"Brienne!" Myra gasped in excitement. Standing from her place close to Jaime and bringing Bridget with her, Myra moved as quickly as she could in her state to see her old friend.

There daring Brienne stood. Physically the same as ever, striking eyes and all. But she had changed, perhaps most revealing, in her expression Myra could see a new lightness.

"Mother!" Kol ran to cling to his mother's legs, he nuzzled his nose, snotty from crying against the breeches Brienne was wearing.

"Aw, Brienne…" taking in the sight before her Myra smiled so wide it hurt, glad that she was no longer crying at the drop of a hat as she had been only weeks before. Myra could hear Jaime standing and moving closer from the middle of the room.

"I could still best any man in the Kingdoms." Brienne stated as Jaime passed by Myra.

"I should hope so…" Myra grinned. "You have beautiful children and a husband to defend…"

"Thank you, dragon." Jaime pursed his lips, standing beside Brienne and scratched his bearded chin.

"It's true though isn't it" Myra winked at Brienne whose expression changed from fun to thoughtful as she looked at Myra.

The tall woman picked up her son and stated with utter sincerity. "What's true is that you were right. It's so completely centred and whole…" Brienne's bright blue eyes shone as they bore directly into Myra's and as she spoke of conversations from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Jaime snickered pressing a kiss against his wife's clothed shoulder. "Always so serious, my love…" he chuckled with a playfully weary sigh in Myra's direction. "Though I do try …"

Even with two missing bundles of small brown haired babes, Myra had never seen a better portrait of a family. And it made Myra's heart ache for her husband all the more.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! This wasn't meant to be so long. Had to split the chapter up. Yikes. Editing…**


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